


a question, not an answer

by jaggedwolf



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, F!Caleb Widogast, F/F, Getting Together, Introspection, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:41:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25660789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaggedwolf/pseuds/jaggedwolf
Summary: Caleb is a woman. That makes things go a little different with Beauregard.
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 10
Kudos: 61
Collections: Rule 63 Exchange 2020





	a question, not an answer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [estelraca](https://archiveofourown.org/users/estelraca/gifts).



The Cobalt archivists were watching her, Caleb knew. Expected behaviour. She was seated in the library of the Rexxentrum archive without the presence of the expositor who’d vouched for her. Beauregard was busy elsewhere in the building. Dairon had summoned her back to Rexxentrum for, in Beauregard’s words, “some dope monk shit”. 

Caleb had welcomed the opportunity to escape Nicodranas. Hours ago, she had stood in the bathroom of the Lavish Chateau, chanting and weaving and willing Nott into the form that was truly hers. It had worked. Nott was back with her family. As she should be.

She wrote into her book with no reference to any other, only to her memory of that successful attempt.

A funny business, that Widogast’s Transmogrification. The act of casting had brought their very minds together impossibly close, Nott’s hopes and fears as tangible as her own. Yet, Caleb had understood, watching Veth dip Yeza into a kiss, Veth laugh as she scooped Luc up into a hug: _This is the beginning of the end._

So long ago, Beauregard had accused her of jealousy with regards to Veth and Yeza. As if something as simple as lust or limerence could have described the matter at hand. Even at their lowest, she had always understood how Nott and Caleb fit together.

She wasn’t quite sure Veth and Bren did.

Her notes complete, Caleb contemplated the first topic she had ever used a Cobalt Soul library for. Later. Perhaps later. She turned instead to exploring what little the archive had on the Soltryce Academy. Necessary to know more than her own history if she wished to truly extirpate the rot. Yet even the more esoteric tomes gave little away. Not a mention of the Volstruckers. 

More questions for Beauregard, once the peace talks were complete. The Archive’s historical opposition to the Assembly implied plenty of material to peruse, likely secreted away. She suspected Beauregard would quite enjoy ferreting it out.

“Dude, you good to go?” asked Beauregard from somewhere behind her, as if summoned by the thought.

Caleb flinched. She smoothed her face before turning around. Needed to keep her guard up. Library or no library, they were still in Rexxentrum.

“It’s closing time, even these guys are going home.” Beauregard gestured towards the pile of books. “What’re you looking into?”

“The Academy.” Caleb tidied the pile before standing. “Without much success.” 

Beauregard’s expression lit up, gaze flicking to the shelves of books before going to the fading torches in disappointment. “Next time. I bet Dairon’s got shit on them, or knows someone who does.”

“I look forward to it.” Caleb kept her smile small as they left the Archive. Beauregard had come far, from pained groaning at reading to assuming that there would be a next time, another visit to some archive. 

“Want to go to a bookstore before we find a room?” asked Beauregard. “Did kinda drag you back to this place.”

“I offered,” replied Caleb. She forced her smile wider. “It is still a beautiful city.” Better this familiar poison for now, thought Caleb, than the uncertainty and betrayal she’d left in Nicodranas. 

“...Sure.” Beauregard eyed their surroundings.

Bren had been maybe half a decade younger than Beauregard when she had bid farewell to Rexxentrum for the final time. And Bren had never examined it as sharply as Beauregard did, keen surveys of buildings and people alike.

A dangerous line of thought. Caleb’s next suggestion only increased the danger. “There is a tavern near here.”

“Yeah?” Beauregard perked up.

“A place where students go. At least, they used to.”

“When you were here,” Beauregard finished unnecessarily. “This about facing down some old demons?”

A bitter huff of laughter escaped Caleb. “The worst of them have already been faced.” Flashes of Astrid and Ikkithon and Eodwulf, as they had been when she was seventeen and as they lived here all these years later, the latter insufficient to overwrite the former. Uncertain if she wished it to, Caleb shook her head. “There will be food and alcohol that isn’t shit, and students who may let things slip. You like both, yes?”

“Hey, I’ve drunk plenty of shit alcohol,” retorted Beau, somehow taking offense. “But yeah, that actually sounds pretty nice. Let’s-”

Beauregard stopped in her tracks, Caleb stopping with her. _Jester_ , mouthed Beauregard. 

Ah. Grateful she was not the recipient, Caleb observed Beau’s face contort through a set of wildly different expressions at a rapid-fire pace. 

“Jester, that’s not-we’re not-” started Beauregard.

“That’s five words,” said Caleb helpfully, holding up ten fingers. 

Beau’s grimace deepened. “We told you guys, Caleb didn't have enough teleports to return today. Be back tomorrow. Not gonna miss the party.” 

A pause, then Beau said. “Yeah. You too.”

“All good?” asked Caleb.

“Yeah,” said Beauregard. They continued down the street, Caleb leading. “Jester said Nott’s been with her family all day. That’s good.”

A blatant attempt to elicit a reaction, but Beau rarely chose subtle when it came to Caleb. Caleb let out a sigh. “It is. I’m glad.”

Beauregard nodded, and Caleb found her gaze wandering down from that single motion to the rest of her. Same old scar under her left eye, none visible on her bare abdomen, the sleeveless pirate coat billowing around her in the cool night breeze. 

Unusual in one aspect. Caleb commented, “You are remarkably unbruised for having trained with Dairon today.” She briefly wondered if Beauregard was hiding injuries out of pride again, but no, Beauregard had less compunctions about such things when the entire group was not around.

“No sparring today. Wouldn’t have fucking minded, but no, got a long, long lecture on the intricacies of Cobalt Soul politics.”

“That could be useful.”

“Can’t trust everyone in the Soul either.” Beauregard restlessly flexed her hand from fist to open palm to back again.

The tavern was as Caleb had hoped. There were sufficient students for them to slip in without drawing much attention to themselves, and not so many that they couldn’t find a small table for themselves and arrange for dinner. 

Once they finished their food, Caleb took out her notebook.

“Seriously, dude? Now?”

“Better now than when we are trying to sleep, no?” Caleb raised an eyebrow without taking her eyes off the book. “We have all heard Jester remark on your night-time theorizing.” Caleb took a measured sip of her drink. “I would like an early start tomorrow.” 

She would like to sleep as soon as they got to said room. Eliminate as much risk as she could from this Rexxentrum trip. 

“Fine, you suck,” grumbled Beauregard. She pulled out her notebook, rummaging through the disconcertingly color-coded pages.

A peace offering would not hurt. Caleb quietly snapped her fingers, and Frumpkin appeared on Beau’s lap, hidden by the table. Beau’s expression softened. “Thanks.”

Frumpkin informed Caleb that Beau was adequately petting him, and Caleb returned to her work.

Or so she tried. The swirl of the students' voices around her was partly her reason for coming here, and yet it ate away at the edges of her focus. New students boasting of how much they had taught themselves in distant hometowns. Discussions of the peace talks, with would-be war mages disappointed their abilities would never be put to use. Giggling conversation on handsome or beautiful peers. Older students trading rumors on which archmages were the best to apprentice oneself to.

Caleb did not shatter at the first, or second, or twentieth utterance of Ikkithon’s name. She did not summon Frumpkin back to herself. She forced herself to listen, and to write. The latter was a clumsy affair. Her practice these days was extracting knowledge from books, not from people and their associated fallibilities. 

That practice was more the domain of the woman sitting across the table from Caleb. A woman engrossed in her notes, mouthing something to herself while occasionally taking big swigs from her tankard. Focused blue eyes gleamed in the torchlight. 

A sight Caleb could not look away from. Truth be told, a sight she had not torn her gaze from for several weeks. That moment of realization had felt rather like a cruel joke. She had thought that kind of desire had burned away with the rest of her past. 

Not so. She swirled her cup, only droplets of the ale remaining, and snapped her book shut.

“You’re empty too. I was gonna get a refill, you in?” asked Beauregard. She put away her journal. 

Caleb nodded. Before she could say anything else, Beauregard had placed Frumpkin on the table and disappeared into the crowd. Damned monks. 

She damned the monks a little less when Beauregard returned with filled cups and said nothing about Caleb’s reclamation of Frumpkin, who contentedly purred across her shoulders. An incongruity tickled Caleb’s mind. The real cat had never been to Rexxentrum, let alone this bar.

“So.” Beauregard leaned forward in her seat, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Essek.”

“Here?”

“Better than with everyone all at once again, yeah?”

Caleb could not disagree. “We know too little, still.”

“We know he’s the guy who passed _it_ over,” hissed Beau, “That started this entire conflict.”

“It did. It is likely why he stuck so close to us in Xhorhas, in case we discovered the truth.” A bitter taste filled Caleb’s mouth. She wondered what role the Scourger Essek had let her talk to played.

Beauregard worked her jaw. “Notice anything weird when he was teaching you that dunamancy stuff?”

“No.” Caleb swallowed a large portion of her drink. “I thought he’d finally proved himself above suspicion. Not the best record here of predicting my tutors’ characters.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Beauregard’s mouth twisted. “He helped figure out the spell for Nott, so he’s not a complete asshole. Doesn’t look like he’s going to sabotage the talks. Why’d you think he did it?”

“For what reason does anyone sell their soul?” Caleb’s gaze slipped past Beauregard, at a trio of students chattering away by the tavern’s entrance. “Knowledge. Threats. Ideology. Some benefit to his position or his den or perhaps the Dynasty itself.”

“Man, I’m pretty fucking suspicious of everyone, but I didn’t see this Essek shit coming.” Beau leaned back in her chair with crossed arms. 

“It is not a pleasant surprise.” Those dunamancy lessons, the understanding this war could be stopped - Caleb felt like a fool. Perhaps he had always been the man the Dynasty made, much as Caleb had once been the woman the Empire forged. 

“Whatever. Not going to be able to figure out shit till we confront the guy ourselves.” Beauregard looked around the room, taking a languid sip from her cup. When her gaze landed back on Caleb, she seemed to be in a different mood, waggling her eyebrows. “You must have seen some wild shit in this place, trainee wizards and alcohol mixed together. Got any good stories?”

It only took Caleb a moment. “Do you remember Hupperdook?”

“Hupperdook was the shit!” A lazy smile crossed Beauregard’s face. “Can’t believe we won and you actually beat that guy. Can’t believe Molly sobered me up, that asshole,” she said with no small fondness to her voice.

“Well, some of the Academy students would hold their own drinking competitions. The difference,” said Caleb, gesturing with a precise flick of her hand, “is that they could cast whatever spells they wished on themselves. And among the more daring students, on their opponents.”

Beau’s grin widened. “That’s fucking metal.”

“Polymorph was contentious. Innkeepers generally do not appreciate elephants in their establishments, and there were disagreements on whether the spell should be permitted at all.”

“All wizards as pedantic as you in their arguments?”

“Oh, it is an official part of the job description.” Caleb kept her poker face through Beauregard’s snort. “Did you see much of Zadash when you were with the Cobalt Soul?”

“Nah. Put as much distance as I could from the city once I snuck out.” Beauregard glanced at her drink. “Wasn’t really the bonding type before the Nein. But uh, sometimes folks would come through Kamordah, and I’d help them out. Petty criminal bullshit.”

Beauregard launched into a story that should not have ended as well as it did for her and her compatriots, the crime completed with minimal property damage. The rest of their time at the tavern passed much the same way. Stories - safe stories, carefully sharded stories - traded, diversions into politics and history where one of them would correct the other until they tired of that abstruse argument, the process repeating itself.

Not a terrible way to spend a night, thought Caleb, staggering out of the bar with Beauregard, their arms slung around each other’s shoulders. The streets were quieter and the lamps brighter than when they had entered. 

They headed to the Carmouth Cottage, Caleb easily remembering the way and Beauregard even more easily following in step. 

“The Mighty Nein is the mightiest nein to ever nein,” sang Caleb under her breath, latching onto the memories of Hupperdook before those of other places caught her. Oh, there went a different Hupperdook memory. “Beauregard?”

“Yeah? Don’t tell me we’re lost.” Beauregard scrunched up her face.

“We are not lost. I never get lost.” Caleb frowned before she remembered her point. “Normally when we’re slumped against each other it’s because of a battle and there is a lot more blood, but this time it is simply alcohol.”

“Caleb.” Beauregard stopped her head-bobbing that had continued past the end of Caleb’s trite tune, and looked at Caleb with dawning horror. “Have we become lightweights? Is this what aging is?”

“I’m at least seven years older than you,” Caleb pointed out. “Also, you know, we are a skinny pair.”

The horror on Beauregard’s face grew. “No. No, you’re skinny, I”-she punctuated this statement by jabbing herself in the collarbone with a thumb”-have biceps. Biceps I fight with. Pop pop and shit.”

“Ja.” Without a beat, Caleb continued, “Still skinny.”

Beau grumbled something incomprehensible, and they kept staggering forward. 

A good night, Caleb tried telling herself.

A night far too reminiscent of some of Bren’s best ones in this city. More than a decade ago, Caleb had stumbled back to the Academy with Astrid and Eodwulf on either side of her, high on the belief that they’d conquer the world together. And here Beauregard and her were now, having fixed it that little bit.

“Dude? We’re here.” Beauregard waved a hand in front of Caleb’s face. “You okay?”

“Yes,” said Caleb quickly, far more unsteadied by the past than the alcohol, the latter’s effects already fading. 

Kela was surprised to see them at the Cottage again, but a room was found for them with little difficulty. Safer to stick together. As soon as the room door shut behind them, Caleb unspooled her silver wire.

It was not as if Ikkithon’s plans included bursting into rooms in the middle of the night, but Caleb had no intention of giving the man any opportunity. She removed her scarf, contemplating purchasing some parchment and ink tomorrow, when Beauregard decided to shatter the fragile illusion surrounding tonight.

“No Astrid at the bar?” asked Beauregard, accompanied by the thunk of a boot hitting the ground.

Faced away from Beauregard, Caleb froze. Of course. Beauregard knew nothing of Nott and Jester’s ill-advised letter. She had seen Ikkithon in the throne room and Eodwulf in the sanitorium, and so enquiring after Astrid was entirely reasonable. 

Caleb slowly turned around. “No, she was not there. Why do you ask?”

“I dunno.” Beau shrugged, a feigned casualness to the movement that Caleb had learned to read, and leaned against a bedpost as she stripped off her gauntlets and bracers. “You made me look like her that one time, so I actually have no idea what she looks like. Can’t blame me for being curious.” 

“That was unfair of me. I’m sorry.” said Caleb. As unfair as it had been to look down at Jester leading a waltz in Hupperdook and see only Astrid, that sudden lurch of comfort in that constant brilliant confidence Astrid had always had. Muddled comparisons that had no meaning beyond her inability to let go of the past. 

“I’m not asking you to be sorry,” Beau snapped, “I’m asking if you want my help finding this chick while the others aren’t around. Big city, but between your wizard stuff, my monk shit, bet we can find some leads.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Caleb sank into one of the room’s plush chairs. She stared at where her fingertips pressed into the armrests. “She lives in a manor on that man’s grounds. I’ve already paid her a visit.”

“Shit, dude.”

“Eodwulf, he-he looked much like how I remembered. Not too worse for wear. No new scars.” An almost-hysterical laugh broke out of Caleb. “I didn’t expect her to have any.”

Beau’s voice, indignant. “From Trent? He’s-”

“From me.” Caleb lifted her head to watch the slowly growing confusion on Beauregard’s face. “When I...failed my graduation, my fire did not stop. It kept going, and in trying to restrain me, Astrid was caught in it.” Caleb rubbed her neck.

“She still pissed at you about that?”

“Oh, no. She understands,” spat Caleb, “that I had reached my breaking point. As understanding as she is of her current role, keeping the Empire’s people safe and waiting for him to die. Content with her choices.”

“That’s fucked up.” Beauregard pushed herself off the bedpost. “They’re just gonna keep letting him fuck people up, because it’ll help with research or the next war. Fucking Cerberus Assembly.”

“Ikkithon may have turned us into weapons,” said Caleb, “but we welcomed it. At least at the start.” 

The few moments Astrid wasn’t in view of Caleb, that night, Caleb had taken in every detail of that manor. If Caleb hadn’t broken, would she have shared that manor with Astrid? If Caleb hadn’t broken, would she too have accepted that outliving the man was the only victory she could grasp? Too many hypotheticals. Too many memories. “I said yes, and yes, and yes to every new horror, until my first and last ‘no’ accomplished nothing other than the breaking of my own mind. Ikkithon will pay, Beauregard, but do not be so quick to absolve us of our sins.”

“Dude.” Beauregard gave Caleb’s calf a light kick.

“Ow.” Caleb glared at Beauregard. 

“He was your teacher and basically had carte blanche to do like, whatever the fuck he wanted with a bunch of teenagers. That’s like, Power 101. You can get anyone to yes when you’re in charge.”

Caleb swallowed. “Not you.”

“I mean, yeah, no magic here. Only this shit.” Beau jabbed the air with a fist. “Not all of us can be badass wizards that make giant fireballs appear with the clap of our hands. Not really the asshole’s target audience.”

“No,” said Caleb. “Even if you were a wizard. Even if you had been at the academy.”

“Uh-”

“You question incessantly. It’s maddening.” Caleb stood, her hands trembling at her sides. “But it works. Over and over again, I have watched and listened as you interrogate your own goodness and strive to do better, from challenging your own teacher to standing before the Dwendalian King. No, I have seen your choices, Beauregard. You would not have made my mistakes.”

All those times Beauregard had lumped herself together with Caleb, the two pieces of shit doing some good, Caleb had been waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting to find out what sin of Beauregard’s could possibly match the stain on Caleb’s own soul.

It turned out there was no sin. Only parents who had more than ten times what Bren’s did, yet hadn’t looked at Beauregard with even a fraction of the awe Una and Leofric had for their talented child. 

Caleb had not deserved her parents. She hadn’t expected the same to be true of Beauregard.

Beauregard’s mouth fell open, a silence that Caleb took advantage of to continue. She had not been able to shake how close that shave had been, and who knew if something like that could happen again. “How could you believe that letting that hag take you away would have done anyone any good? When you told me not to run, I was terrified of Ikkithon finding me and wiping us all out. Our position was precarious, our allies few. That made sense. But there, with this Isharnai. What happened, Beauregard?”

“Fuck you,” said Beau. “You can’t tell me not to go and then pretend you were being rational back then, Caleb.” She gripped Caleb’s shoulder. “Either we’re both right, or we’re both wrong.”

Caleb raised her hand to grasp Beauregard’s wrist in turn, muttering, “I suppose we are stuck with each other, then.”

“Guess so.” Their gazes met, Beau’s unexpectedly steady. As if she weren’t trying to read Caleb, but was merely watching. Waiting. A moment passed. Another. Then Beauregard’s hand moved to the back of Caleb’s neck, her face veered closer and Caleb was still processing her disbelief when Beauregard’s lips stopped an inch away from her own. Beauregard exhaled. “Shit. You can tell me to fuck off.”

“Beauregard,” said Caleb, her voice hoarse. “It is not me you want.” 

“But you want me?” Something glinted in Beauregard’s unrelenting eyes. “I won’t run if you don’t.”

A challenge or a plea. An argument or an agreement. That constant uncertainty with Beauregard, whose words were so filled with promise that Caleb discarded all doubts to crash down into an inelegant kiss. A brief clacking of teeth gave way to something far more promising, between Beauregard’s practiced ease and Caleb’s quick adapting. Beauregard kissed like she argued and fought, no quarter given.

When they broke apart, Beauregard’s smirk was sharp. “Gotta say. Way better at kissing than hugging.”

Narrowing her eyes, Caleb tightened her grip on Beaurgard’s coat. She pushed her back towards the bed with a single-minded goal. Beauregard acquiesced, hands wandering within Caleb’s coat. When they bumped into her book holsters, Beau laughed, tapping the contents with her knuckles. “Better get rid of this before we ruin your spells.”

Caleb removed her own coat, unhitched her book holsters and placed them carefully on a nearby table. “Spellbooks are not nearly that fragile, though-”

Beauregard shedded her pirate coat and shirt in one seemingly fluid motion, stopping Caleb mid-sentence. “Literally any other time. I’ll trade you listening to me theorize about the Empire-approved gods or something.”

“Deal,” agreed Caleb, and permitted herself to be pulled into bed.

.

“Heyyyy, Caleb!” yelled Jester’s voice.

Caleb’s eyes flew open, and she let out of a sigh of relief when all she saw was Beauregard, asleep on her front. The morning sunlight from the balcony warmed Caleb’s back, curled up on her side as she was. 

“It’s tomorrow!” continued Jester’s voice in her head, not getting any quieter. “Don’t run out of spells this time because then you guys would miss the party and we picked really cool outfits-”

Caleb sat up, comforted when her mind was her own once more. Best to reply quickly if she wished to maintain that. “I will not run out of spells. Beauregard is still asleep, but we will return in time for the party and outfits and everything else.” Hopefully, that would be sufficient.

“I’m still asleep?” Her voice muffled by the pillow most of her face pressed against, Beau cracked open an eye. She poked Caleb in the ribs. “What time is it?”

“Eight.”

“Mmmm,” grumbled Beauregard, her hand flopping down to loosely grab Caleb’s. “I should have restocked on pocket bacon.”

Caleb made the mistake of looking at where their hands met. The scars from Ikkithon’s crystals were scattered along her bare arm, as numerous as they were small, and they stood out against her skin. There were more pleasant sights in this room, such as the way the jade filigreed across Beauregard’s upper back caught the sunlight. Caleb hadn’t seen the entire tattoo before.

“A meal, and then Nicodranas?” proposed Caleb.

“Sounds like a plan.” Beauregard yawned. She rolled off her side of the bed, landing so softly that Caleb was divided on whether she was showing off or if that was truly how she started her days. 

Their respective morning routines so instinctive to them - Caleb’s retrieval of the wire and considered preparation of her spells, Beauregard’s push-ups and pull-ups and what other torturous exercises she had devised for herself - they were both dressed and ready to depart before they said much else to each other. 

Beauregard made towards the door, and Caleb made to follow her, thrown when Beauregard spun around so rapidly the staff on her back clunked against a wall. Beauregard made a face. “We should talk.”

“Certainly.” One gratifying night, Caleb reminded herself, was plenty. 

“Not really used to talking about these things but uh”-Beauregard took a big breath, bigger than any Caleb had seen her take before a battle. “Definitely didn’t expect last night to happen. Kinda sure you didn’t either. S’cool if-”

“I understand how it is,” interrupted Caleb. Selfish of her, perhaps, but she did not want to hear one of Beau’s stumbling explanations, not about this, not when she already knew the conclusion and did not need to parse anything out. There was only concern in Beauregard’s expression now, none of the desire of the previous night. Caleb supposed some mistakes were only obvious in the light of day. “I’m not expecting anything, Beauregard. You are young. A night can simply be a night.”

“Okay, man, don’t fucking condescend to me.” Beauregard pressed a fist against her own thigh. “Like, you give a shit about me, right? Beyond all this “our Empire-related goals align” shit?”

“That is not in question,” said Caleb, a little confused. “I have said it before. I care about you, yes.”

“And I care about you. And we’re important to each other. And all the other shit we’ve said. Look, last night was pretty fun. And uh”-Beau winced-”it’s not like I never thought about it before.” 

Beauregard clasped Caleb’s forearm. Echoes of previous confrontations resounded in Caleb’s head. _Let’s be better to each other. Let’s do some good together. Let’s try to end a war._

“Let’s fucking try this out.” said Beauregard, her lips quirking into a nervous smile. “I think it could work. No more running?”

There had been so many times Caleb had found herself confident in the answer. With the Academy. With Astrid and her and Eodwulf and Ikkithon building something grand. With rotting away forever as she deserved. With staying under the radar with Nott. With undoing it all, between the Archive’s books and Essek’s lessons.

Beauregard was no answer.

Yet, Caleb thought, Beauregard was a question well worth wrestling with. 

“Yes,” said Caleb, squeezing Beauregard’s forearm and tugging her closer, “no more running.”


End file.
